The hum of the engine was the only sound in the stillness of the night, and the headlights pierced through the blackness, illuminating fleeting glimpses of the world outside. When he finally parked his car outside the bar, the clock on the dashboard blinked ominously—four a.m. The bar’s neon sign flickered in the distance, casting an eerie glow that contrasted with the quiet of the hour, hinting at the long night still lingering in the air.
Zack’s bar.
The bar was silent when Logan walked in, the heavy click of the door locking behind him punctuating the emptiness like a gunshot. The lights were still on, casting a warm glow over the wood and glass, but the usual hum of life and laughter was gone. Zack stood behind the bar, a towel slung over his shoulder, his head tilted in weary acknowledgment.
“We’re closed,” Zack called without looking up, his voice flat and indifferent.
Logan ignored him, his footsteps deliberate as he crossed the room. His suit was rumpled from hours of driving, but he straightened it instinctively, a hollow attempt at composure. He didn’t need alcohol. Not tonight. He needed something else, something raw, something that could drown out the ache clawing at his insides.
“Oh, it’s you…” Zack muttered, glancing up. “A bit late for you, isn’t it?”
Logan didn’t answer. His silence was heavy, loaded with intent. He moved behind the bar, stepping into Zack’s space, his presence electric and unyielding.
“Look, man,” Zack began, raising a hand as if to ward him off. “If you need a drink—”
The words died in Zack’s throat as Logan grabbed the front of his shirt, his fists twisting in the fabric, and crushed their mouths together. The kiss was brutal, desperate, a collision of need and anguish that left no room for gentleness. Logan’s lips moved over Zack’s with abandon, his body pressing Zack back against the counter.
Zack froze, breath catching, before his hands found Logan’s face, gripping him with a desperation that mirrored his own, fingers pressing into skin as if trying to carve meaning into something meaningless. Logan kissed him harder, forcing himself deeper into the moment, into the illusion, chasing a warmth that no longer belonged to him.
When his tongue flicked at the seam of Zack’s lips, Zack yielded, parting for him, letting their mouths tangle in a fevered, clumsy dance. Logan felt the slick heat of it, the way their bodies moved in sync, but it was all wrong.
The taste—wrong.
The shape of the lips against his—wrong.
The breath, the weight, the rhythm—hollow.
It wasn’t Adrian.
When he kissed Adrian, it always pulled at his neck, a gentle strain as he bent down to meet him. A quiet ache, a necessary surrender. And somehow, he had loved it, the way Adrian’s lips tilted up toward his, the way he had to reach for him, the way it felt like gravity had shifted, and Adrian had become its center.
Zack was taller.
There was no need to bend, no need to reach. Their mouths met too easily, without effort, without struggle, without the ache that had once made kissing feel like a giving of oneself.
No matter how fiercely Zack held him, no matter how deep he drowned in this moment, it was still an empty ocean, a shipwreck of a kiss.
And yet, Logan let himself sink.
Because emptiness was better than nothing.
Because if he closed his eyes, if he let his edged mind and the darkness blur the edges of reality, he could pretend. Pretend it was Adrian’s mouth against his, Adrian’s warmth sinking into his skin, Adrian’s breath tangled in his own.
Pretend he hadn’t ruined everything.
For a fleeting second, he let himself believe… but the lie shattered the moment it touched him, sharp and cold against his skin.
It wasn’t Adrian.
It would never be Adrian.
Logan moaned into the kiss, a guttural sound, as his hands roamed over Zack’s body, anchoring himself in the heat of him.
Their bodies moved together, a frantic rhythm of friction and longing. Logan felt Zack’s hands slide down his back, gripping him tightly as their hips aligned. The hard press of Zack’s cock against his own sent a bolt of pleasure through him, and he gasped, his hands fumbling with the buttons of Zack’s shirt.
Logan felt himself unraveling, the fragile thread he’d been clinging to fraying with each passing moment. It wasn’t sudden, it never was. It was a slow, merciless descent, like the tide receding inch by inch, leavinghim exposed and empty on the cold, barren shore. His thoughts drifted, slippery as seawater, too scattered to hold, too heavy to release. He had come here tonight not to find anything, but to lose himself; to drown in the chaos, to sink beneath the weight of it all, to numb the aching hollow where Adrian used to be.
His lips moved, but the sensation felt borrowed, like it belonged to someone else. Heat pressed against him, skin on skin, Zack’s breath ragged in his ear, the crush of mouths clashing, seeking, taking.
